The Culture that has been here all the time

The idea of a domestic sub who can help me in everyday life was presented to me when I was weighed down as a caregiver for eight years as my wife declined. It sounded great until the woman who introduced me to BDSM tricked me into giving her money ( some others did as well). I truly need a domestic sub now, as my housework is not what it used to be. I only just began to appreciate BDSM when things became more critical in my caregiver role.

If I were to meet a woman who was a submissive, domestic, and kinky BDSM woman, I would be overjoyed. I would work hard to make our relationship work, probably fall in love, and practice more kinky things and offer her what good things I could.

"Good morning, dear.  I hope you slept well and had pleasant dreams. Here is a hug and a kiss. I am making coffee, and I will be making breakfast soon. Is there anything special I can make you? I have bagels and muffins, and the best fresh eggs I could buy. When it is ready, do you want me to bring it to you, or will you come down to eat it?"

When looking for something fails, it cranks up my anxiety. I can't seem to shake it today. My cat and dog tried, but to no avail. When anxiety flares up at this level, and nothing seems to quench it, it generates the stark picture of a lonely life. A comforting embrace would go a long way, but it is missing, and it's something I can not buy.

A wise black woman I knew a half-century ago often counseled me on my way of thinking. Her simple question was so thought-provoking that I have never forgotten her words, "What does what you are thinking (or believing) have to do with that?" Sometimes she paraphrased it to fit a situation. How she became an impromptu counselor, I do not recall.

The situation was when I was in an emotionally dark place, and the information I had available to me was scarce and often inaccurate, so my mind, being so intensely active, filled all the blanks, and as many of you know from my blog, that is not good because I chose to see things in a negative light.

The missing solution then and now is the same: a warm, comforting embrace. Since I communicate most effectively with human touch, offering and receiving, and I am living in what may be the darkest cave of my life. If only I had just one candle offered to me. images pixabay

UPDATE: I found dozens of my paintings in my self-storage unit. My anxiety dropped very well. I will sleep much better tonight. Also, I will go over my new website notes before I build it; the first step will establish it, and the second step later will offer my artwork for sale again.

Since I have been painting artworks sporadically for almost 60 years, I have a collection that could use some administrative work. Van Gogh's sister-in-law did it after his demise. and Hooper's wife during their long marriage. I prefer a woman, as I am kinky, and I still am a heterosexual man. I was introduced to BDSM when I needed a helper when I cared for my wife (not a nurse), the woman who was to provide me with a domestic kinky sub never followed through, and she fooled me out of money. Now it is the time I could use more help, because as I am getting older. I do have things to offer her the potential in return for her service. It is always symbiosis in the real world.
We should be compatible and affectionate to each other, and live a life working together for each other's benefit. I have a house with a manageable mortgage and a paid-off car, food, and utilities.
If I do find the right sub, we would not be lonesome travelers in a messy, unpredictable world any longer.

Now that I have allowed the artist in me to live once more, I have reawakened so much. The complex mindset, as I love experimenting with different mediums and subjects. Photos are good to the degree they don't move and are consistent and varied (beyond what I have in front of me). But photos lack one important feature: I can't touch and feel the subject.

In my early days, I mostly painted landscapes, seascapes, and abstract ideas. One art teacher explained portrait painting as he did it. He collected photos, made sketches of the actual person in front of him, and explained his thoughts as he planned the final product. His work sold for a price I can only dream of.

Yes, I will experiment, focus on different subjects, try different mediums, but I fear I may never have a companion, a lover, to feel and know intimately again. Now that I am free to paint nudes, ¹ nothing would be better than painting a lover I can embrace and love. Paint her image in different ways and settings. Pixabay images

1 My wife was a sub and sexually free in our bedroom, but chose a religion that frowned on nude paintings. I followed her to church and complied with her attitude, but I knew we both truly didn't see art in a sinful light.

We All Should Know Ourselves:

"Know thyself" (gnothi seauton) is an ancient Greek aphorism, famously inscribed at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, urging individuals to understand their limitations, motivations, and true nature. It signifies the importance of internal reflection over surface observation, encompassing self-examination of passions, weaknesses, and recognizing oneself as a mortal rather than a god.

I was lost for about eight years to myself because I devoted all my focus and energy to caring for my wife during her cognitive decline. Now, on a storm-tossed sea, seeking refuge, I suddenly discover the answer has been within me all along. The shore I landed on was where I thrive creatively. I am back where I know how to live. I have immersed myself in my creative artwork.

Whether it was a song or a painting, I became one with the endeavour. The beautiful thing about this? My late wife knew it was my happy place.

Instead of sadness, I feel inspired. Like many artists, I have periods: some produce fine work, some fail, but I always learn from the effort.

Now? I suddenly realise Edward Hopper's work speaks volumes to me; maybe I will emulate his work, and it will become my "Edward Hopper" period.

I long for a muse more knowing that he had a longtime companion who helped him defeat his demons. Whether alone or with a companion, I shall venture forth. My little house is rapidly becoming my artist's studio LOL.

Hotel-by-a-Railroad-Edward-Hopper-1952

Public domain photograph of hotel lobby, free to use, no copyright restrictions image - Picryl description

Once upon a time, when I was battling deep depression episodes, I asked my counselor, "Can I ever feel like I did as a child once more?"

He then, and another later, wouldn't answer. To be fair, probably no counselor can truly answer that. I had to research the question and find my own answer.

The answer lies in the brain's natural chemistry, and no external material or substance can truly recreate the joy of a child seeing the world for the first time. Tried but gave up. Falling in love was close. Love can produce the right chemistry if we let it, and if we do not spoil it with resistance or by creating obstacles to feeling joy.

"Happy chemicals" are neurotransmitters and hormones—Dopamine, Serotonin, Oxytocin, and Endorphins—that regulate mood, pleasure, and emotional well-being. " AI

In my entire adult life, I have experienced a joy that closely resembled the childhood joy: Three hugs spaced many years apart. Each within a sorrowful period when I was alone and not filled with hope. I do not think that in each case the woman who comforted me knew she had, and it was probably not her intention to create the depth of feeling I experienced - yet I allowed the momentary joy to exist. I am hopeful even now.

Good morning, I slept well with over an hour of REM sleep because it turned cold overnight.  A week into spring, and I missed the start, but the flowers were not taken by surprise; they bloom around the neighborhood. Last night, winter clawed at my house and chilled it nicely. I have managed to pay the enormous winter heating bills, and since my late wife isn't here, I have little reason to keep the temperature as high as I used to.

Every day holds a promise or a surprise. I am counting on a positive in my life to manifest itself. There isn't a single reason other than a feeling. Maybe I am being too optimistic. I know that romantic visions of Europe persisted during the three years I lived in a village, which heightened my desire to recapture that romance. Alas, I no longer have the financial means to become an expat. Maybe if I win the lottery.

I look in the mirror and wonder if anyone could like that guy. I don't look as old as I am, and I am still self-reliant. My finances have recovered, and I use some of my time with music and art. Still thinking about how much garden I want this year. Still trying to motivate myself to put away and deal with clutter and remnants of the past that are not sentimental. 

I still miss having breakfast with a companion, but I wonder who would want a used car like me anyway. I really liked the Shortwave Radio in my old Simca because I listened to BBC news each evening at 18:00 local NJ time (LOL). (Pixabay photo)

What motivates me? Others, especially close friends. Now alone for the first time in almost fifty years, I am not moved to keep my house up to snuff. Never really been sloppy inside my home or yard (attic, garage, or basement maybe), but without a companion and no visits from anyone, I don't care. Another factor, when I bought this house about four years ago, it seemed to fit. Now that I am a widower for the first time, it is unimportant and lacks space for office and hobbies. Like René Magritte, I paint in the dining room. 

Reigniting my music and art is beginning to add clutter with associated stuff. Soon, new paintings will be scattered about.

I care more about my dog and cat now, too. My cat is a fusspot. He seems to ignore the cat fountain I bought for him and keeps to the old water bowl.

Yes, I am reaching out in search of a companion, but so far, there is no reason to be optimistic. (pixabay)

Ultra Reality has engulfed me. When my wife was diagnosed with dementia, the first four years, we still could take a ride, a walk, shop, and have lunch together, even as her cognitive issues grew. By year five, that was down to rides to the doctor and fast food pick up to bring home, then by year seven I could only manage some of my doctor's appointments by hiring an aide to watch over her, and in the last three months, I relied on Hospice's help (so grateful to them).

I occasionally attempted to seek a companion, and the scammers destroyed my finances. Today, I am well on the way to financial recovery.

The rollercoaster of mourning is rough, though learning about the long goodbye helped a great deal. I live with my dog and cat, watch TV, play some guitar, sing for myself, and have begun working on some art. I have a hard time falling asleep even with melatonin, and I do have dreams, some of them not nightmares but unpleasant nevertheless. Last night I was startled to see an apparition.

I woke at about 2 am to my cat nudging me, and I saw a vivid image of my wife holding stuffed animals standing by my bedside. Ambivalent because I felt love and fear, I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, she was gone.

I have been cut off from dating for forty-one years, but last night I decided I need to resume my quest for a companion. What did I do? I opened an account with eHarmony, feeling both awkward and hopeful. 

I have many positive things to share with a woman, and maybe the potential woman will have many positive things to share with me. I am not sure how to proceed, living in a town where I am still a stranger, with no friends and limited contact with family. I feel I have no choice. Yes, it costs money, and the first contact was without a doubt a scammer. I had her blocked. And, unsure of my dating abilities.